Do you think Technoblade ever looked at tiny baby Wil and thought “wow this hairless rat is gonna die.” And proceeded to make velvet blankets out of old capes for the baby, fur adorned and scrubbed as best they can be of the blood that stained it. He is put in a cradle of red and white, cushioned by a king’s cloak.
It’s all well and dandy until Phil comes home and sees his small, barely can roll over infant, is surrounded by things he could suffocate to death on. He proceeds to very gently take Techno’s hand and explain that infants need empty cribs. If anything they can sleep in a sack. He proceeds to also show diagrams of what a sleep sack looks like, lest his infant ends up in a potato sack.
Techno huffs softly and grunts. Yet he removes his cape, albeit slowly, and takes the time to sew it into a suitable piece of sleepwear for the baby. Phil won’t let him put actual gold in the crib- due to babies’ innate ability to die from nearly everything- so he instead embroiders the sack with gold thread, carefully secured and checked over for no loose strings.
Techno holds the infant, Wilbur, in the crook of his arm, a little worried that perhaps his fur is too bristly for the child’s soft skin. Even the tiny nails are shiny and brand new. He lays him on a cape (apparently that is acceptable should he be actively holding the child).
Philza is a good friend but harried father, and because of this often ends up passing out on the couch, wiped out from child minding. Techno doesn’t mind. For his friend the world, and if his father figure asks him to help raise a child, he would.
Phil says Wilbur is his younger brother, after all. A few centuries younger, but Techno has always been slow to age. He has hardly even hit adulthood yet. He has many, many more years ahead of him.
Wilbur grows incredibly fast, like a sprout of bamboo in fertile soil. He lays there for a while, like a large potato. But soon, he starts rolling. And babbling, and crawling. The crawling stage is short, hardly a few months, and then he is using furniture to toddle around the house. Then he’s off. He runs, he jumps, he takes off like a fledgling out of a nest. Techno is there for all of it.
Even at the end. He finds Phil, sprawled out in a corner of rubble, with the limp body of his son at his side.
Techno doesn’t say anything. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Instead, he wraps the still body, once more in a red velvet cape.
